Recommended & Related

I threw a loaf over the gate. A man caught it but another man tackled him. Pondark threw a second loaf so they’d each have something but the heavier guy just ended up with both loaves. He tore right into them even though they had blood on them.

“It’s like feeding the birds,” I said.

Pondark didn’t say anything. He never does. He pulled another loaf out of the box and tossed it.

An old man caught this one. He opened his jaw wide and—

He stared at me.

A woman took his loaf. He still didn’t move.

He just stood there, staring.

*

Mom throws parties. She throws champagne at people and they stay for days. Lady Coco-Sheen lives with us, just about.

“Gray is not a blonde’s color,” she said. Then she grabbed a sandwich and vanished.

I looked down.

I’d put a blue dress on that morning.

But . . . the dress was gray.

I went back to my room and closed the door. I stood with my back against the door, breathing hard, for a long time.

*

Sir Roger was sitting at the grand, playing Chopin. Lady Coco-Sheen and Mom and a few others stood around him, listening.

Applause.

Sir Roger lit a cigarette.

Mom raised her eyebrows.

“I hope you’re a good shot,” she said to him.

Sir Roger raised one eyebrow.

“Because if you stain those ivories, you’re on the next ship to Zimbabwe.”

He opened his coat. A pistol handle poked out of his breast pocket.

Mom grinned.

Sir Roger raised the cigarette to his lips. Lady Coco-Sheen snatched it. She took a puff.

“Cigarettes are harmless,” she said. “Unless, of course, you put them in your mouth.”

Glass crashed.

People screamed.

Lady Coco-Sheen screamed.

Sir Roger hopped off the bench. Lady Coco-Sheen . . . I’d never seen her move that fast.

I jumped up.

A man had smashed through the bay window. His hands were bleeding. His face.

“Uncle Zollie? ” I said.

Mom heard me. She looked at me. Her face. She breathed hard. She grabbed my arm.

The man staggered forward. Reaching out.

Everyone ran to the south wall. Mom dragged me with her. I kept looking back.

“But it is him,” I said.

“Shut up!” Mom said.

A scream.

An explosion.

The man fell down.

Sir Roger was standing in the middle of the ballroom.

He lowered his pistol.

Dad climbed through the bay window. There was almost no glass left in it. When he saw the man on the floor . . .

There was blood all over the floor.

Dad fell down.

The man quivered. He quit moving.

Someone screamed.

I covered my mouth. I backed out of the room.

I’d changed five times that day. But my dress was gray, again. And…

There were holes in it.

*

A rumbling, thumping.

An earthquake.

Lady Coco-Sheen. Dragging her bags down the stairs.

“I’m getting out of this house!”

“Mum? ” Pondark reached for her bags.

“Don’t touch them! Don’t touch me!”

Pondark rushed to the door and opened it. Lady Coco-Sheen moved so fast, her feather cap blew off. I caught it.

She turned. She looked me up and down.

“Keep it!” she spat, and vanished.

*

They’re out there. Sir Roger and the other men. Morning, evening.

I counted a hundred gunshots, the one night. Then I fell asleep.

My face is raw from washing. The dust comes back.

I wonder.

When the time comes.

I wonder . . .

Will they do the same to me?

About the Author(s)

Rolli (rollistuff.com; @rolliwrites) is a writer and cartoonist from Regina. His most recent story collection, I Am Currently Working On a Novel, was long-listed for the Frank O’Connor International Short Story Award and short-listed for the High Plains Book Award. Rolli’s cartoons appear regularly in the Wall Street Journal, Reader’s Digest, Adbusters, and other popular outlets.